


the party has just begun

by sameboots



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Halloween, Meet-Cute, jaime lannister: color guard captain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 01:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21171164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameboots/pseuds/sameboots
Summary: Sansa drags Brienne to a frat party. Addam drags Jaime to a frat party. Meet-cutes happen.—"If I kiss you, will you punch me?" Jaime asks softly, barely audible over the whirring sound of the AC.Brienne sucks in a breath and blinks rapidly."Will you?" he asks again, brushing his thumb along the apple of her cheek."Probably not," she murmurs.





	the party has just begun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angel_deux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_deux/gifts), [Roccolinde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/gifts).

> Thank you endlessly to Lady_in_Red for really doing me a huge solid by betaing this at the last minute. I was perhaps overly concerned about getting it up before Halloween. 
> 
> It should go without saying that all remaining mistakes are mine!
> 
> I’m going to dedicate this one to angel_deux and Roccolinde. Did angel write me 20k+ of a wedding present that fulfilled my wildest dreams? Yes. But she should know by now all  
I’m good for is almost 3k of silly Halloween fic.
> 
> Oh, and the title is from the Monster Mash but I changed the tense because I said so.

The moment Brienne steps into Sansa's dorm, Sansa shoves a bundle of red and white polyester into her arms. The excitement on her face is as scary as anything Brienne has ever seen, but not nearly as scary as the fact that Sansa is wearing her KLU cheerleader uniform as a costume, and it's in the same colors as the clothing in her arms. 

"I refuse to go if I'm a cheerleader," Brienne says, staring in horror from the costume to Sansa in rapid succession. "I legitimately refuse to go if that's what this is."   
  


Sansa rolls her eyes. "Will you just  _ trust _ me?" She pushes Brienne further into the room. "Change. Now."

Hesitantly, Brienne unfolds pieces of the costume while Sansa retreats to finish primping in the bathroom. The knot in her stomach loosens a little when she realizes it's actually a football uniform. She breathes a sigh of relief, one that doesn't last very long once she actually pulls the jersey over her head. 

The pants are as expected, spandex and clinging too tightly to her muscular thighs and non-existent hips, but at least her athletic build makes sense for the costume. The jersey, though—it's cropped, only coming down to just below her breasts, leaving almost her entire stomach exposed. 

She knows she must be beet red as Sansa swans back into the room, grinning broadly when she sees Brienne. 

  
"I  _ knew _ it would be perfect."

"Absolutely not," Brienne says, barely allowing Sansa to finish the sentence. She tugs at the hem of the jersey, desperately trying to close the six-inch gap between the hem and the waistband of the pants. 

"Oh, come on," Sansa says, rolling her eyes. "You look perfect. You look  _ hot _ ."

Brienne scowls, embarrassed fury tensing her entire body. "Don't do that."

Sansa immediately looks apologetic. "I wasn't—" She stops when Brienne glares at her. "Sorry. But it does look cool. It suits you."

Brienne closes her eyes and takes calming breaths. When she opens them again, Sansa still looks genuinely apologetic. Brienne sighs. "Okay, let's get this over with."

—

Jaime hates frat parties. He wouldn’t have come if Addam hadn’t insisted that he needed a wingman. The idea of Addam needing a wingman at a Halloween party is, frankly, ridiculous, but he was insistent and Addam doesn’t ask for many favors. 

Jaime's in the corner, drinking disgustingly cheap beer, dressed in the laziest costume imaginable (his color guard uniform) and counting down the endless hours until he can leave when she walks in. 

She’s  _ tall,  _ and where Jaime has the long, lean muscles of a dancer, she’s _ ripped _ . His eyes travel up her body, starting with her powerful calves, over her incredibly muscled thighs, when he reaches the bare skin of her sharply outlined abs, he nearly chokes on his own tongue. 

He looks up, hoping to catch her eye only to be assaulted with the face of his best friend. 

“She’s here,” Addam says with a level of enthusiasm he usually reserves for fantasy football and tacos. “Come on.”

Jaime opens his mouth to explain about the woman of his dreams, but he realizes with a sinking feeling that Addam is leading him straight to her. 

_ Fuck _ .

Just his luck. He finds his soulmate and his best friend is already into her. Jaime’s not going to get between the two of them, but—well. Fuck. 

“Hey!” Addam calls out when they’re within shouting distance. She doesn’t react until he yells, “Sansa!” Her head turns at the sound, and Jaime is confronted with the most intensely blue eyes he’s ever seen.

His life is a Shakespearean tragedy. 

When they draw up alongside her a minute later, a feminine voice says, “Hi!” But it’s not the woman he’s doomed to pine over for the rest of his life. Confused, he looks over at Addam to find him beaming at a red-haired cheerleader. She’s cute but she’s not—

“This is Brienne,” the redhead says, gesturing to the love of Jaime’s life. "Brienne, this is Addam." The redhead—Sansa, Jaime figures—says Addam's name with a dreamy tone.  _ Oh _ . 

It's Addam's turn as he says, "Jaime, this is Sansa. Sansa, Jaime."

Sansa starts to say, "Brienne—"

Jaime interrupts her though, his eyes never having left  _ Brienne's _ face. He sticks his hand out for her to shake. "Jaime. My name is Jaime," he says stupidly, gazing at her with rapt attention. 

She looks from his hand to his face and back to his hand, and warily reaches out and places her hand in his. Her hands are large, callused in a way that intrigues him, but her grip is delicate and tentative. He can't resist the urge to caress her thumb with his own. She snatches her hand away in an instant, her whole body going tense. 

Jaime frowns, unsure what he did wrong and determined to make it right. 

"Do you want something to drink?" he asks. "Beer? Soda? Scary punch?"

"No," she says, not quite meeting his eyes. "I'm fine."

Brienne wobbles and whips her head to the side to glare at Sansa. Jaime follows her gaze to see Sansa widening her eyes and jerking her head toward Jaime. Brienne clenches her teeth and shakes her head sharply. Sansa glares. Brienne glares back. After staring into each other's eyes for a creepily long time, Sansa turns a bright smile on Addam. 

"Can you show me where the drinks are?" she asks him.

Addam, incapable of playing it cool, says, "Sure!" with an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm.

Sansa takes him by the arm and drags him away. 

"Sansa!" Brienne calls out, almost desperately. She watches as Sansa and Addam fade into the crowd before she turns back to Jaime. 

It's confusing the way she immediately tenses as if bracing herself for him to do or say something awful. 

"So…" he trails off, searching for literally anything to say to someone who seems to want to be anywhere else. "Do you go to school here?"

"Yes." 

Jaime waits for her to elaborate, but she doesn't, she just crosses her arms across her bare stomach and looks at some point over his shoulder. 

"Have you known—" he searches his brain for her name, but it escapes him like so much ephemera. 

"Sansa," Brienne supplies. 

"Right, right, have you known Sansa long?"   
  


"You don't have to do this," she says bluntly, her face tightening like she's resisting the urge to grimace. 

"What am I doing?" he asks, genuinely confused at the combative nature this conversation took so quickly. 

"You don't have to pretend like you want to talk to me," she says. "I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself so if you wanna just—" She gestures as if shooing a fly. 

_ So this is what dismissal feels like _ .

"What if I  _ want _ to talk to you?" Jaime asks, unable to keep all the annoyance out of his tone. 

"You don't."   
  


"I do."

"Why? You can just call me ugly and be on your way. There's no need to lure me in before jerking the rug out."

Jaime stares at her, feeling like he's been slapped.  _ Ugly _ . "You're not—"

"Yes, I am." She says it as if saying something as obvious as _ it's dark at night _ . "I've been through this before. Please, just leave me alone."

—

Brienne doesn't know  _ what's _ wrong with the ludicrously beautiful guy in front of her. He's  _ gorgeous _ , from his wavy burnished gold hair to his cut-glass jawline to his brilliant green eyes to the wicked curl of his lips. Not to mention the muscles clearly outlined in his—she lets her eyes drift over his form. He's wrapped in skin-tight stretchy material, all black except for the red slashes of flames that cut across his toned chest. 

"What are you?" she asks before she can think better of it. 

When he huffs a laugh, she lifts her eyes just in time for his to flick from his costume to her face again. He has an  _ adorable _ smile on his face as he shrugs and says, "My color guard uniform." 

"Your—" It doesn't make Brienne feel like a good person, necessarily, that she's shocked that he's in color guard. She'd pegged him immediately as a star quarterback or pitcher, so finding out he's not  _ the _ star athlete takes her aback.

Instead of being offended, his smile bursts into a toothy grin. "Yes. It started out as a way to piss off my dad in high school and then," he shrugs, "it turned out I was really good at it and I liked the people. A lot better than the assholes on the football team, anyway."

"Oh," she says, letting it sink in. 

"I don't have to ask what you are," Jaime says, a strange tone in his voice that she would label flirty if she were anyone else. "I like it."

She flushes. Of course, even the guys who aren't star athletes are still assholes in the end. 

"I should..." 

She starts to turn away from him, but he shifts around to enter her field of vision again. 

"What did I do?" he asks, looking genuinely worried. 

"I'm not an idiot," she grits out, automatically winding her arms around her middle and curling her shoulders forward, desperately trying to make herself smaller. 

"This is by far the most confusing conversation I've ever had." He wobbles in place slightly, antsy, like he's trying to shake off some feeling but not willing to actually shake. "I really meant that I like it. It looks good. You look good."

She peers at him. For some reason, she almost believes him. He seems genuine, no secret malice lurking in his eyes. She looks around the room, trying to spot a cadre of other beautiful assholes watching the show, but no one seems to be paying them any mind. 

"Thank you?" She grips her own sides, curling her fingertips into her skin until her blunt nails dig in. 

"You're welcome," he says, smiling brightly, but not victoriously. " _ Do _ you want anything to drink?"

She shakes her head. "I want to leave, but—" 

"Addam will watch out for Sansa," he tells her. "He's actually a good guy." He seems to sense her hesitation. "Look, I hate parties. We could at least go out back where it's not as packed if you don't want to leave your friend?"

She goes on tiptoe to look over everyone's head and finds Sansa and Addam tucked into a corner talking to each other, their heads close. She seems safe enough for Brienne to disappear for a little while at least. 

"I'd like that," she says.

Jaime leads the way through the packed frat house until they can push through the back door. There's a small crowd of people outside, most of them smoking, the scents of weed and tobacco curling together in a suffocating cloud. She coughs, and then she feels a hand in hers, fingers curling between her own and tugging. 

She follows Jaime around the side of the house, near the air-conditioning unit. He leans against it. It's not exactly quiet with the AC working its hardest to cool down the full house, but it's still better than a crowd of people pressing in on her. She relaxes against the wall, slumping a little and drawing fresh air into her lungs. 

—

Jaime watches as every breath contracts Brienne's abs, throwing them in sharp relief. He wants to touch them. He won't. But he wants to. Badly. 

"Do you play sports?" 

She blinks at him, her eyes somehow even bluer in the moonlight and the orange glow of street lamps. "No."

"Then how did you get those." He gestures to her stomach. "I've never seen abs like that on anyone." 

She looks down at her stomach, but this time she doesn't cover herself up. "I work out a lot." 

"It must be more than a lot."

She blushes again for some reason and looks away from him as she says, "I don't have much else to do. I spend a lot of time in the gym."

Jaime can't think of what the right response might be. Clearly, there's something else going on, and even he knows that  _ cool _ isn't the thing to say. "We should work out together sometime." Brienne's eyes go wide, her mouth slack with surprise. "You clearly know what you're doing. Maybe you could show me some stuff."

He watches as a series of emotions he can't identify pass over her face. She draws her lower lip between her teeth, only drawing attention to how plump it is. "Sure," she says quietly. 

He smiles and relaxes again. His eyes keep drifting to her red lips, chapped and bitten but still plush. 

"If you're messing with me," she says, interrupting his fantasies of kissing her until they're both breathless, "I will end you. Sansa will help."

Jaime realizes what it is. He's probably slow on the uptake, he usually is, but suddenly he realizes what this abrasive, standoffish attitude is all about.

"I have a younger brother," he says. Her eyebrows furrow at the non sequitur. "He was born with achondroplasia. Dwarfism," he explains. "He's the coolest person. He's smarter than me, funnier than me, better than me in so many ways, and none of it seems to matter to most people because he looks different. People can be cruel, especially when you're younger." 

Brienne blinks at him, a weary vulnerability in her gaze. "Yes, they can."

"You don't have to believe me or care," Jaime says, "but I'm not one of those assholes. I'm a smart ass but I would never… I hate bullies. And I really fucking hate people who take pleasure in promising acceptance for the sake of humiliating someone."

He can see the moment that Brienne believes him. It's like a different person is before him. He thought she was already relaxed, but it's as if she's taken off a suit of armor and he can see the real Brienne. 

"You  _ do _ look nice," he says again, emphatically. "The uniform suits you."

She takes a breath, lets it out slowly and says, " _ Your  _ uniform suits  _ you _ ."

He can't keep the smile off of his face, but she answers with a small grin of her own this time. 

Jaime has never, not once in his life, managed to make the right decision. So when he pushes himself away from the AC to step closer to her, he knows he's doing the wrong thing, but he's always had trouble with the whole being-a-dumbass thing. He watches her chest rise and falls a bit quicker as he steps into her space. He stops before he's actually touching her. 

He lifts his hand slowly, giving her a chance to stop him. She doesn't, just staring at him with those eyes that put the Summer Sea to shame as he tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. 

"If I kiss you, will you punch me?" he asks softly, barely audible over the whirring sound of the AC. 

She sucks in a breath and blinks rapidly at him. 

"Will you?" he asks again, brushing his thumb along the apple of her cheek. 

"Probably not," she murmurs. 

He grins. "Those are good enough odds for me."

She doesn't punch him. He kisses her gently at first, just catching her chapped bottom lip between his, only darting his tongue out for a taste. He pulls away to look at her again, her eyes still closed, her lips soft. When she opens her eyes to look at him, the corner of her mouth lifts just slightly, and that's what he needs to lean in and kiss her more heavily.

  
She's just as strong as she looks, grabbing his arms in a grip that will probably bruise tomorrow, at least a little bit. It makes his blood run hot just to imagine those little circles of purple-blue-pink marring his skin. She jerks him to her, letting him stand between her thighs. He can't help but moan quietly. Their mouths part only for heavy, pleased sighs, or to place kisses along the other's neck or jaw. 

When she presses into the touch of his fingers tracing the hollows between her abdominal muscles, he has to admit that he probably owes Addam one. But that thought is there and vanished in an instant when her hand dips from his hip to cup his ass. 

Jaime might not hate frat parties anymore, not when one has now gifted him with this moment, and the promise of more to come. 

**Author's Note:**

> In my headcanon, Addam and Sansa have been dating for weeks and have agreed that not only do their best friends need to find love, badly, but that they should definitely find it with each other .
> 
> Also, I have never made myself laugh as hard as I did when I made Jaime color guard instead of Kingsguard and I won’t apologize for it.
> 
> This is probably the last you’ll get from me until early November due to wedding and honeymoon (!!!) but I adore you all and will see you on the other side of October!


End file.
